


Wintering Over

by mrwonderwoman (saete)



Series: Cold & Comfort [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF!Clint, BAMF!Phil, Canon-Typical Violence, Christmas, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Mission Fic, Morning After, New Relationship, Teamwork makes the dream work, Undercover as a Couple, except now it's real too, winter activities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-04 11:23:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20470211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saete/pseuds/mrwonderwoman
Summary: winter over (some place);to spend the winter at some place. e.g. The bears all winter over in their dens. All the animals are getting ready either to migrate or to winter over. My parents winter over in Florida.With a life-threat averted, and a tentative start to something between them, Phil and Clint must wrap up their mission before taking any time to sort themselves out.





	Wintering Over

**Author's Note:**

> What is _up_ fam? Hello, I'm back! I’m really glad I was able to parse this down to the parts I wanted and fluff it up and get it published finally. This is dedicated to Jo and to everyone who expressed enthusiasm about getting to hear more of Jaina and Michael's story. I hope you all enjoy!

Clint thinks his subconscious has been playing him these past few days. Because as soon as he starts to wake up this morning, he knows exactly where he's at and what day it is and who he's got himself wrapped around. He considers squirming a little further under the blankets to try and fall back asleep, but he's really comfy he doesn't want to disturb Phil. 

His wants, however, don't seem to matter - within the next moment, Phil wakes suddenly, shifting in Clint's arms and breaking their hold a little as he sits up smoothly to lean across to the nightstand. His chest rumbles under Clint's hand as he shuts off the alarm clock that Clint can only just sort of hear.

"Good morning," Clint replies, assuming that's what Phil's said. He sits up too and stretches, going for his hearing aids. Phil is watching him when he flops back onto his pillow after they're in and adjusted. Clint smiles, going for cheeky but probably just ending up looking gooey. Phil's eyes have a softness to them and it tugs right at Clint's heartstrings. His pulse picks up as Phil leans over and comes in for a kiss. Clint has always loved this kind of morning-after, where there's a sure sort of laziness and warmth, but this is the best one to date. The kiss drags on and Phil crowds in over top of him. 

Clint feels his own alarm vibrate under his pillow, and he hears Phil's backup go off at the same time. He thinks it's a miracle that this is the closest they've come to actually needing their alarms to get up over the course of the mission. It's nice to not feel like he's on a schedule for once. SHIELD careers aren’t exactly conducive to that sort of thing. The alarm keeps vibrating under the back of his head. 

"We," Phil starts to say between kisses, "should go check the signal." 

"Mmmm," Clint hums in agreement, but keeps kissing him back. 

"And the feeds," Phil adds after a moment. At which point, Clint gives up because really, they are on a mission and they've got a job to do. As much as he'd like to, he won't neglect that for a morning in bed. So he sighs and pushes dispassionately at Phil's chest. He feels the shape of Phil's half-hard cock drag against the top of his thigh and tries not to visibly react to it. 

They both turn off their alarms. Phil puts on his glasses and goes to brush his teeth and relieve himself while Clint opens up the laptop and tries to send a message to HQ. There's still no signal but he types up a brief of the situation. Phil comes out of the bathroom when he's a paragraph in.

"Anything?"

"Unh-uh," Clint grunts, still typing. 

"Then I guess we need to decide how we want to handle the day." He looks towards the window, "We've got limited options with the storm, but we should still be able to work around that."

Clint is zero percent surprised that Phil wants to go forward with the mission. Not only is it the SHIELD way to forge onward through curve-ball after curve-ball and get the job done where other agencies couldn’t, it’s also the Coulson Way. And until they can get in contact with backup for extraction, there's not much else they can really do.

"Last night I brought the weapons up,” Clint tells him. “I stored ‘em in the spare room, but we _could _put them back and pursue the prime directive over the next couple of days. Hopefully the signal will come back by then." He nods towards the drift-filled hillside they can see through the window. "We're also gonna have to take a break and make sure the AIM guys are really shut down at some point."

Phil doesn’t seem convinced; "Until the conditions improve - at least until the snow isn't going sideways anymore and there's no risk of getting lost and freezing to death - we're going to stay right here indoors and hope the few AIM agents left are smart enough to do the same. But I like the first part of your plan."

"Okay, lemme wrap this up and then we can go make the swap."

They manage to make the trip in one go - Phil with one device and Clint with two. They're big, boxy things and once he's lifted his own, Clint double checks with Phil to make sure he's good with the weight but Phil brushes him off. It's still early in the morning, and without any competing foot-traffic they swiftly sneak down the hall to the freight elevator outside the sightline of the security cameras. Clint's got one device under each arm, and once they're in the lift, he hefts them both to keep them balanced against his sides. From his periphery, Clint watches Phil eye the gesture appreciatively just over the rims of his glasses, and maybe flexes a little extra because of it. Phil scoffs but doesn't look away immediately. 

It goes off without a hitch. They easily skirt around the limited hotel staff and more small-scope security cameras, and soon enough they're back in their room making coffee. As Phil sets the machine, Clint crowds in to press up against him, wrapping his arms around Phil and flexing again.

"You know, this is a hands-on exhibit," Clint purrs, rubbing his palms across Phil's chest and torso. "You get to look _and_ touch." There’s a voice in his head that's arguing about body space and Phil's comfort levels but he’s pushing it down by trying to reason with himself that Phil will tell him if something's up or if he’s uncomfortable. This is new territory and it's gotta be explored sometime. 

"Who says I didn't have my fill? You've certainly been giving me an eyeful." He ignores Clint's hands and the kissing he’s added to the back of Phil's neck. Which doesn't reassure Clint of his concerns, but Phil's still not pushing him away, so he figures it's the same complacent, secretly-amused tolerance Phil always shows him, and he persists. 

"Have I?" he mumbles coyly against the slope of Phil's shoulder. 

The hand reaching back to grab his ass takes Clint by surprise. 

"You think I didn't notice _this_," Phil squeezes the handful he's got, "stuck in the air when you were getting up from squatting to set down the tech?" Phil squeezes again and Clint rolls his hips forward with a subdued moan.

"Always got an eye on my ass, sir?"

"It's part of the job - I've been watching out for it since day one," Phil says, but he finally starts to lean into Clint's ministrations. Clint press his pelvis slow and firm against Phil, and Phil's other hand falls away from the coffee machine. '_Finally getting somewhere_,' Clint thinks, just before Phil freezes up.

"What's that?" he asks, and Clint's about to say something crude and rub harder up against him except Phil adds, "Hush for a second."

"What's what?"

"That beeping."

"Buddy, you're asking the wrong deaf guy here."

Phil swats his side and pushes away from the counter. Clint relinquishes his hold and trails after him into the bedroom where he finds Phil answering the shortwave comm unit he'd used on Christmas Eve. 

"Coulson," he says as he puts the piece in his ear. Clint watches his face as he listens. There's a moment of what must be explanation but then Phil rolls into a rundown of their current situation with bullshit-vague details about last night and the extent of their injuries. Honestly, Clint doesn't know how more people haven't caught on to all this self-sacrificing Phil does. It seems so obvious to him. 

To Phil's credit, he does accurately describe the at-bay AIM presence. Then, he's asking whoever's on the other end how close they are, instead of what they should do next like Clint might expect. Phil seems to get his answer though because suddenly, he's rattling off a detailed outline of a plan that he's definitely just made up on the fly about reeling the Escobars in. Clint keeps up, but with only half the conversation and a strong sense that Phil will have a different, more specific, and unofficial plan once he's off the record, he decides he may as well go back to making coffee. 

Part of him is a little miffed that this first morning-after has been eaten up by the mission. He’s eager to see Phil in his natural environment, at his most relaxed. Will he be cuddly? Handsy? Grumpy? Is he normally going to be receptive to Clint being all over him in private or is this a rare occasion? A reassurance perhaps, while they’re still so new?   
The questions will keep, he knows that, but it doesn't stop him from wondering. 

It's only a couple of minutes before Phil rejoins him. 

"We've got approval to go forward with the plan and acknowledgement about AIM," he opens. "The backup team is already moving to do cleanup and extraction prep on them and we're supposed to meet them up there at the shelter, with the Escobars, once we have our evidence."

“Even with the snow?” Clint asks, holding out a full and prepared mug to him as he crosses the room.

Phil nods. "It looks like it’s letting up, but even if it doesn’t, they’re prepared for it.”

“Prepared for it,” Clint scoffs, “Sitwell won’t be the one frogmarching civilians uphill through two and a half feet of snow.”

Phil gives him one of his below-the-surface smiles and continues, “They’ll be reachable by the comm and ready for us in an hour at the soonest. So we’ve got that much time at least to plan something. Get some final damning evidence.”

“Do we need that much time?” Clint asks. It seems pretty straightforward - they’ve gotta be bold. The way Phil is looking at him now suggests he's right and makes him feel clever. Like they’re both on the same page.

“The live feed is back up so the suite is under recorded surveillance again."

Phil's definitely going somewhere tactical with that but Clint also decides he'll take it to mean that they're to be less than handsy without anyone else present and the excuse of their cover identities. Better to show restraint than be accused of misconduct. Clint doesn't exactly want to make a spectacle of something this important while it's still on loose footing. 

"We'll use that for the original reason we had it installed - getting the suspects on tape committing the crime."

"Okay," Clint says, leaning back against the counter, "You told them we're gonna spend the day gaining their trust and getting them to confess. What's the real plan, though?"

Phil looks caught between something smug and frowning a little reprovingly at the same time. "That's still part of the agenda," he says in his mission-voice. "But I want to shift towards a direct approach. I think we can snare them today instead of waiting on them to ask us. They're confident, and after months of easy pickings they're relaxed and certain about their exchanges. This week seems like the first set of hitches they've encountered. The two of them trust us and I don't think they'll be offended or suspicious if we invite ourselves into their business."

"With two buyers falling through in the same week they'll probably be grateful," Clint adds.

"Exactly," Phil says.

"So how do we do that? Activities are definitely canceled today."

"Which will work to our advantage. We want to have them on camera and so with nothing else for them to do, an invitation to our rooms for brunch will probably be a welcome and diverting part of their day."

Clint grins and tries not to feel certain that they'll have this wrapped up before noon. Cockiness isn't going to do him any favors. "You gonna go call them now?" he asks.

Phil nods once, "Cross your fingers that Michael answers."

Clint pushes off the counter and holds up two sets of crossed fingers. Phil gets a smile to his eyes as he turns and walks into the sitting room. Clint watches him walk away for a moment, imagining a scenario where he could follow after and wrap his arms around Phil, stand behind him and maybe kiss his neck and face on the side without the handset. He avoids looking at the camera that can see him from the entryway and pointedly doesn't contemplate whether or not Phil would want him to do any of that even under ideal circumstances. 

As he turns to fix his own cup of coffee, Clint keeps an ear out and thinks that it sounds like Michael answers, which he takes as a good omen. Once it's ready and he's had his first sip, he walks over and leans against the door jamb, watching Phil finish his pleasantries before hanging up.

"They'll be over in forty-five," he says, then holds the receiver out towards Clint, "Would you like to order the food?"

Clint watches Phil where he stands at the window, parting the curtain and looking out at the snow. The waiter had made a comment that it was supposed to be slowing down and that the last of the storm clouds would likely blow over by tomorrow tonight at the latest. Clint isn't really thinking about that as he sets out the dishware on the coffee table and looks his fill from the corner of his eye. Phil is beautiful in the glow of clear blue light highlighting his face. Clint could spend a lot of time admiring his profile. 

He turns back to the food cart and takes a deep inhale just to get a small, unsatisfying taste of their meal. Clint's stomach had growled audibly when the waiter rolled the food cart across the threshold of their suite door. The waiter was polite enough not to react, but Clint wouldn't have cared if he had. It's probably his hunger talking, but the food smells so good that the reaction seems warranted. 

He stands up and sneaks another glance at his partner before crossing over to the fireplace to relight it. Their woodpile is surprisingly far from dwindling and Clint thinks that it might be his favorite part of their whole suite. He doesn't have very much taste for expensive amenities or decor. 

He's just finished stoking the fire when a knock comes to the door. He looks up at Phil, who's turned away from the window to look back at him. Clint watches as Phil's hand falls away from the curtain - admires the accidental grace of it - as he turns and moves to answer the knock. Clint stands and ambles slowly after him. His eye catches on the food cart and he thinks about how they are literally baiting the Escobars and using food to disguise their hook. What a shame, to have breakfast be your downfall. 

Phil lets their guests in with a smile and a warm welcome. Clint contributes his hellos and invites them to sit. He purposefully stands in front of the sofa that would put them closest to the door to reserve it for himself and Phil. 

"Coffee? Tea?" he asks as they settle. 

"Coffee, please," Jaina says, adjusting her skirt. When she sits back Clint thinks she looks like the definition of the word _prim_.

"For me too," Michael adds. 

He turns to pour it, but Phil is ahead of him and so he takes a seat and lets Phil serve the drinks and place the cream and sugar on the coffee table between the plates. He uncovers the food and gestures towards it all, "Please, help yourselves."

They both smile contentedly and Clint lets some of his own tension slip away at the evidence of their comfort. He disguises it by settling into Phil's side. Phil's arm slips a little from the back of the couch to his shoulders and holds him close as they wait to fill their own plates. 

It's a half hour of easing them further into that relaxed atmosphere before Phil taps Clint's leg to signal that he's about to make his move. The Escobars are well into their meal but not far enough along that they can politely leave if they want to avoid the discussion. Clint is once again grateful for absurd social rigidities. 

"I hate to divert a good conversation, but Clint and I didn't only invite you both here for your company," Phil opens. 

"Oh?" Jaina asks, not suspicious or guarded, but curious, which feels like a tiny victory. 

Clint draws up his most disarming smile, "See, Phil and I, we really like you both. You're good people," Clint says.

"And Michael had mentioned that you all had a business opportunity. That it required some networking and a fair amount of discretion, but that it was relatively easy money."

"Not that it's about the money," Clint adds dismissively.

Phil carries the same tone, "No, Clarkand I do quite well for ourselves. But I know how hard it can be to make the right contacts."

"We're interested in helping you out; in doing business with you," Clint adds.   
The back and forth keeps it from feeling like a conversation instead of a waiting trap, and Jaina and Michael seem to be falling for it - engaged and waiting to see where this goes.

"I grew up in Silicon Valley, and Clark and I both have plenty of international contacts. We work regularly with the sort of people Michael had suggested were your clientele." 

"And so we thought we'd offer at least our professional contact information, in case there's anything we could ever help you out with." Clint looks between the two of them; Jaina's expression is very neutral at first glance, though obviously attentive, and Michael nods thoughtfully at him. So he goes on: "But we also wanted to know if we could arrange anything before we left. I don’t want pry and we won’t ask questions, but it seemed like Ms. Kapoor deserted you prematurely, and if she’s left you in a lurch … " he shrugs, “then we’d be glad to help you out of it.”

Phil’s body language stays cool and casual, his hand drawing gentle circles on Clint’s upper arm. "Our plans have changed and we have to leave as soon as the weather finishes clearing up. It just seemed like meeting you - the timing of it - was perfect."

Clint loves how he and Phil can flawlessly build off of each other's narratives. Practice is for people who don't know one another inside and out. 

Jaina and Michael exchange a look - like they're taking a moment of consideration to read each other. Jaina breaks away first and makes marked eye contact with Phil, "Would this be a onetime occurrence or would you also be willing to work with us in the future?"

Phil puts on a considering appearance. "I don't see why we wouldn't help you when we can. As long as we weren't wrapped up with a project that kept us in any one place."

She nods and pauses thoughtfully. She drinks from her cup and gives Michael a long look over it. He nods like she's told him something then turns to Clint and Phil. "We happen to have some products with us that need transporting. It would be perfect if we could ship them in the next few days - if you could take them with you. Around the purview of customs?" Michael says, the hinted lilt of a question in his tone. 

"That shouldn't be a problem at all," Phil says confidently, punctuating it with a sip from his coffee. 

"Where do you need them to go?" Clint asks. 

"Seattle, Washington," Michael answers. 

"Perfect, we can stop by on the way home," Phil says, which is hilarious to Clint for how absurd and mildly extravagant it seems to just plan a few thousand more miles and an extra stop in a private plane, even if it is all imaginary. 

Clint keeps his tone casual when he asks, "And, are we allowed to know what it is we're transporting, or is it better if we don't?"

"Perhaps not specifics, but essentially, they're technology prototypes. We don't want the cargo advertised because it isn't quite ... sanctioned."

"Then this should be off-the-radar rather than just discretion," Clint says.

"Yes." Jaina replies, the first hint of bite to her voice since they started discussing this. "Will that be a problem?"

"Not at all," Phil answers, and when Clint hazards a glance, his expression is perfectly dismissive.

Clint turns to face him fully. "We're going to have to leave pretty quickly when Jasper gets here; we don't want to keep him waiting." He glances between the Escobars and Phil, "Should we go ahead and bring them up here so we can pack them in our cases?"

The Escobars don't noticeably change in demeanor or seem nervous which is a good sign. The less suspicion, the better. Obviously. 

"That's a good idea - would you two mind?" Phil directs the question at their guests.

Jaina's mouth tightens but she says, "No, that will be fine. The sooner, the better, I suppose." Their apparent need for a speedy delivery is working heavily in his and Phil's favor. "Michael, why don't you take Clark and that helpful concierge and go fetch the hardware." 

Clint's pretty sure she's only detaining Phil to be polite, so that Phil and Clint aren't leaving a guest unattended in their room but he still shoots his partner a wary look. Phil catches his eye but doesn't react at all as he takes another sip of his drink. 

Michael doesn't chat as they ride down to the first floor, but with his hands stuffed in his pocket and the way he watches the numbers above the door, Clint assumes it's more because he doesn't have anything to say than that he's uncomfortable. He leads Clint out into the lobby and puts a hand up for him to wait before they get to the desk. Clint watches carefully as he ignores the closest person manning the reception desk and circles all the way around to the other employee who looks to be sorting something below the counter top. They speak quietly and the concierge's eyes skip to Clint twice, but Clint keeps a relaxed expression on his face and continues to wait. His nametag says _Daniel_, and he's less shifty than Clint expected him to be. After a minute of inaudible discussion, the concierge comes out from behind the desk and takes the lead, heading towards the back of the building. Michael gives Clint a casual "come here" gesture and Clint crosses the lobby quickly enough to catch up and fall into step behind him. 

Clint is trying to stay on guard but the measure and steps of this all feels expected - like he's just going through the motions, and the fate of these particular criminals is already sealed despite the distance between here and the finish of this mission.

The way down to the storage room feels all too familiar but as they take the freight elevator back to the fifth floor, Clint knows better than to think anything grudging about this being the third time in twenty four hours that he's had to lug these fucking Frankenstein wonders of technology all up and down this hotel.

When they arrive back at the room, Clint makes eye contact with Phil and is sure to be in the lead as he takes the device in his arms to the guest room. 

"You can just set 'em down here," he tells Michael and concierge Daniel. Michael puts his beside Clint's then shuffles around the concierge to exit. Clint stops Daniel before he can do the same.

"Hold on, let me move the desk a little, then we can put them in a row and have some room to walk." It's totally unnecessary, but the concierge waits as Clint moves the desk. As Daniel crouches down, Clint gets behind him. When he stands and turns, Clint lands a sucker-punch and knocks him out cold before he can so much as make a noise of surprise. In a few short seconds, he’s done a pat down, pulled a ziptie from his pocket to secure around the concierge's wrists, and used a second one to tie him to the foot of one of the bedposts.

He walks back out in time to catch Phil shaking hands with Jaina and saying, "We have a deal then?" which must mean that they've agreed on a transport fee. _Bingo_ \- they’ve got their damning evidence. With both of the Escobars facing away, Clint draws his gun, making eye contact with Phil and giving him a nod. Phil doesn't nod back, but he puts on a genial smile and drops the hand he'd been shaking with to reach for the gun tucked into the back of his pants. 

"Congratulations," he says as he brandishes it, the Escobars recoiling in shock and probably fear, "you've just managed to incriminate yourselves in multiple international crimes. I'm Agent Coulson and I'm taking you into SHIELD custody."

Clint makes his way to stand beside Phil, another blockade between the couple and the only exit. The Escobars look startled and frightened, taking a protective step towards each other as they put their hands up, but Clint says "I'd stop moving if I were you." And he can tell by the looks on their faces, he's put enough Scary into his voice not to need more threat than that. 

"Agent Barton, would you like to search them for weapons," Phil says - a statement more than a request.

"Yes, sir," Clint says, a little cocky as he tucks his gun in his pants and steps forward. He hasn't seen any sign of weapons on them today but better safe than sorry. "Clear," he says once he pats them both down. He steps backwards to stand beside Phil once more and redraws his gun. 

Phil puts a hand up to his ear, "This is Agent Coulson, requesting backup in suite 515. Three suspects, unarmed, currently being detained. Requested materials also secured. Please send three agents," he waits a moment, listening to the response. "Copy that," he says and brings his hands down from his ear. 

The four of them stand in silence for a moment. The Escobars still look scared but now they also look uncomfortable. Clint is used to these drawn out sort of face-offs. Like the Escobars, most of the people he faces-off with are not.

"Could we-" Jaina's voice cracks and she clears her throat. "Could we at least sit down?" 

"I'm afraid I need you to remain standing," Phil tells her. 

She doesn't seem to know what to do with that response. Maybe she expected Phil to still be playing into the role of awkward gentleman. But he isn't Paul Colbert, and although Agent Coulson is absolutely a gentleman, he’s also a spy. And the job has to come first. 

"So are you-?" Michael starts to ask.

"Please, no talking." Again, Phil's request is mostly a command. They're at the tentative stage where Phil and Clint can't read them any rights because the monitoring team hasn't told them what charges they can get the Escobars on. Anything they say can be used against them but it would be a fight in the courts and things will be easier if the situation is just avoided. Luckily the Escobars are polite and intimidated enough that they'll acquiesce. 

It continues to be an awkward few minutes of babysitting, but like all good SHIELD agents, their backup team is fast. Clint answers the knock and lets in the three agents. He shows two of them to the guest room while one goes about cuffing Jaina and Michael. The second agent cuffs then unfastens the concierge from the bedpost, using smelling salts to revive him before pulling him up to stand. Clint and the last agent each grab one of the devices, and between them they carry the third.

"All set?" Phil asks him, as they come out from the bedroom. 

"All set," Clint echoes back. 

Phil turns to the Escobars, who are being separated and held at the elbow by the SHEILD agent who had cuffed them. "I'm sure you don't want to make a scene. I would hope that you could be capable of doing this with a little dignity, but if you'd rather we gag and blindfold you, that option is always available."

The Escobars and the concierge, too, are like sheep as the group of agents escort them quietly out the back and then start the long trek up to the top of the hill. There's only a little stumbling, and the pace is slowed by their captives' lack of athleticism, but nobody gets injured and they don't have to stop for anyone to catch their breath. Jaina is shivering by the time they make it to the well-hidden SHIELD transports. Michael doesn't look much better but neither of them say anything. Daniel just seems exhausted.

A few people approach to help with the transition and to take the devices from Clint. He rolls his shoulder to stretch it and sighs as the rest of the group walks away. Phil stands quiet beside him with his hands in his pockets.

"If they won't hate me for it," Clint says as they watch the Escobars get loaded into one of the vehicles, "I'm going to send them Christmas cards while they're in prison."

Phil turns to him, "When have you ever sent anyone Christmas cards?"

"I haven't. I'd take it up just for them."

"Jasper's going to be jealous when he finds out."

On cue, the lead backup team agent comes out to meet them. 

"Agent Sitwell," Phil says.

"Coulson, Barton - nice work. The emergency shelter was a godawful mess, but cleanup went smoothly and the _remaining_ AIM agents," he gives the two of them a pointed look, "came easily. You met all the primary points of your assignment, too. It looks like you got everything we needed to lock this up tight." 

Clint's already starting to shift into post-op mode when Jasper goes on speaking. 

"The bad news," he says as if he's warned them there was any, "is that we have limited transport space. Since you two have stayed past checkout time anyways and your cover hasn't been blown, Hill says that the two of you should stay here and enjoy some temporary leave."

Clint and Phil exchange a look that doesn't say much but they direct their focus back to Jasper quickly. 

"We'll send someone in to disconnect and clear out our tech after we finish getting the Escobars 'checked out' of their rooms," Jasper adds, "and then you two can head back in. There's coffee in one of the SUV's if you all want something to keep you warm while you wait." 

"Thanks, Jasper," Clint says. He gives the two of them a nod then heads back to one of the two vehicles to get back to managing exfil. 

"Shall we?" Phil asks after a moment, gesturing towards the other car.

Clint shrugs, "I won't ever say no to coffee."

The extraction team is long disappeared by now - tech and criminals in tow. Still, the two of them know better than to be suspicious figures on the blank hillside. So they stick close to the treeline, just far enough outside of it to enjoy the view as they head back down towards the resort. 

Clint glances at Phil. Side-eyes him, really. 

"What is it?" Phil asks him. 

"Nothin'," Clint says and shrugs his shoulders, using the gesture to disguise pulling his hands out of his pockets a little. 

They take a few more steps and then without any warning, Clint reaches out and pushes Phil into a snowbank. He makes a muffled "_oomf_" sort of sound and goes right down. Clint completely cracks up - outright cackling and folding in half with the force of his laughter. He had genuinely expected Phil to notice or at least put up a fight. Maybe even pull Clint down with him. When he finally gets a hold of himself, he realizes that Phil is still lying on the ground. Except, his arms and legs are moving. 

"What are you doing?" he asks, wonder coloring his confused question as the laughter dies off.

"Making a snow angel."

A surprised huff of amusement escapes Clint, "You were just down there and thought you'd go ahead and add to the heavenly host?"

"Something like that."

Clint just watches him for a minute.

"Well?" Phil calls up, still sweeping his limbs.

"Well, what?"

"Aren't you going to join me?"

Clint just stares down at him in disbelief, grin slowly growing despite the little spike of panic at just how big his feelings are for this dorky, wonderful guy. He spins around on his heel and flops down beside him, instantly admiring the height of the snow banked up around him, how deep he's sunk into the packed, glittering walls that look grey-blue in their own shadow. And then he starts flapping his arms and legs. It only takes a minute for him to start laughing - this feels ridiculous, more so because he knows Phil's doing the same thing just a foot away, even if Clint can't see him. He grins up at the heavy, bright grey clouds and swings his limbs continuously. Finally he stops to relax and take a deep breath. 

"You done?" Phil asks from the other side of the little wall of snow between them.

"Yeah," he answers back, and Phil's up and in his space, bending over to help him stand before Clint can even prop himself up. 

They step back to admire their work and it really does make quite a pretty picture. Clint takes a moment and commits it to memory.

He looks over at Phil - who's staring down at the figures with a little tiny furrow between his eyebrows.

"What are you thinking?" Clint asks him quietly.

"They need a friend," he says still staring at the silhouettes. then he steps backward and turns to the side, reaching down to scoop up a little pile in his gloved hands and pack it together before dropping it onto the ground and starting to roll it around. In an instant, Clint makes the connection. 

"Are we building a snowman?" he asks, manic excitement just edging into his tone. 

Phil looks up at him - cheeks rosy and eyes wide through his glasses, "Well, _I_ am. Right now you don't look to be doing much of anything."

Clint's grin widens and he follows Phil's lead, "I'd've jumped if you'd only said how high. Can't play along if I don't know the plan, sir."

"Learn to roll with the punches, Barton."

Clint guffaws, "I'm a little busy trying to roll snow, sir," he says as he continues packing a ball together. To his delight, Phil laughs aloud. 

"That was terrible," he says. Clint shrugs at him but keeps grinning. 

They work in relative silence - their breathing and the crunch of their footsteps are all that marks their presence. The snow soaks up so much sound. Clint had almost forgotten until there wasn't wind rushing past his ears to take away from its large silence. Every now and then Clint looks over at Phil to watch the focused expression on his face and the way his breaths paint the air in front of him. But eventually, his thoughts wander away with him. 

"I've only ever made one once before-," Clint huffs as he walks bent over, rolling up the medium sized midsection. "In the circus we spent every winter somewhere really warm and really far south. Usually Florida or Texas or California." He feels his partner's eye land on him. "But-," he huffs a breath as he gives a strong push to the lump he's rolling, "-there was this one time - at the orphanage - where a couple of kids - called me over to help them out. They wanted to make - a really big one - and there wasn't - a lot - of other people out. It sounded like fun-" He rubs his nose on his wrist, and wonders if Phil has a handkerchief on him, but doesn't bother asking. "So we spent like five hours criss-crossing the lawn - collecting every last snowflake - until we had the bottom and middle parts - of this huge, enormous snowman - but no way to get the head on." Clint looks up because he thinks he can hear Phil laughing under his breath, but the snow muffles it. They make eye-contact and both of them smile.

"Anyways," Clint gives a good shove, "We stand there for ten minutes trying to-" he grunts when he hits a lump, "trying to figure out how we're gonna get it up there - 'cause we're all too short - and it took - took all three of us to get the middle on - when Barney comes out lookin' for me. Thought I was in trouble for a second. But then - he comes over to us - takes a long look at the yard, the snowman, the head on the ground - 'n just asks us what the plan is." Clint laughs softly and looks to Phil who's wearing an easy smile. "Next thing I know - I'm sitting on his shoulders - and the other kids 're - _mmph _\- handing the head up to me." 

Phil huffs happy little laugh, "What about the facial features?"

"Barney let the other kids - take turns doing that." Clint stops rolling and stands up, "Which was weirdly less surprising than him letting me up." He takes a deep breath and stretches a little. 

"Think the middle's done?" Phil asks, still rolling the bottom. 

Clint looks down at his handiwork and nods, "If you wanna finish your part up then start the head, I'll go look for some limbs and stuff."

"Fine by me," is Phil's reply.

Clint turns and heads into the woods and walks a ways until he finds an arbitrary patch of ground to clear and starts looking for rocks and bark.   
When he gets back, Phil's crouched down, packing some snow into a ball just the right size for the top. Together they stack the sections, steadying and balancing them easily. They set right to decorating, stabbing the branch-arms into its sides and poking pieces of forest debris into the head until it looks like a face. 

Stepping back, Phil stands with his arms crossed over his chest with Clint akimbo beside him as they admire their finished work. It's good, and he's happy, and this moment is something to be proud of. 

A gust of wind rushes around them and Clint shoves his hands into his pockets. From the corner of his eye he sees Phil shiver quietly. Clint bites his whole lower lip and sidles up next to Phil close enough to bump his hip.

"'M not sure about you, but I'm gettin' a little chilly." Phil eyes him and Clint edges closer. "I, uh, I can think of a pretty good way we can warm up, though."

Clint watches Phil’s eyes darken just the barest bit and then he's reaching out and putting a hand on Clint's hip. "I'm intrigued. Why don't we go back to the room and discuss it?"

Clint hums, low and happy, then pivots away from Phil, striding off at a slow swagger towards the resort. He tosses a glance over his shoulder to get a last look at their creations and at Phil standing in the snow watching him. It only takes place in the span of a breath, but Clint feels every ounce of the moment. And then it's imprinted in his memory and Phil is strolling after him, still holding eye-contact. Clint turns back around and slows his pace until Phil catches up. 

They walk side-by-side in content quiet for a moment. A few moments. Long enough for Clint to pull his hands out of his pockets because his gloves are soaked and it's not so much keeping his fingers warm as it is getting his thighs wet and making it awkward to walk. Another gust of wind sweeps against their backs. Clint admires the visible puffs and swirling of their breaths carried with it, and simultaneously wishes he'd remembered to wear a hat. Any warmth that might be shared between them is blown away, and sapped from their bones into the atmosphere. Between them, their hands swing free, nearly brushing. They've touched each other's dicks but Clint's inside-butterflies kick up when he has the urge to reach out and take Phil's hand. The only reason he doesn't hold his breath as he mentally braces himself is because he knows Phil would notice. But then his palm is pressed to Phil's and Phil is interlocking their fingers and smiling at him.

"We probably should have taken off our gloves before we started playing Frankenstein," Phil says as the wet material squishes between them. 

"I think it would've been just as bad to touch the snow with bare hands. The cold would've equaled out." But then, Clint doesn't even begrudge the wet and chill of his coat and scarf and pants. Not with the endorphin rush he's riding and the happy feeling he's got a hold of in his chest. 

Phil hums skeptically, "Maybe, but we'll still try it my way next time."

The _next time_ is startlingly warm and exciting but Clint still protests; "Hey, what's with the 'we'?"

"Solidarity," Phil says, facing forward again and giving Clint's hand a squeeze. "Besides, warm hands make for nicer holding."

Clint shakes his head a little even as Phil’s words fan the heat of his happy feeling. He bites his lip and decides to keep verbalizing his feelings and being brave; "Warm hands or not, today was the perfect snow day."

"I question the involvement of criminals in your definition of perfect," Phil replies, then cocks his head, "Maybe if we'd had hockey equipment and could've gotten a one-on-one in. I bet the ice is empty right now."

"Well, I sorta thought we were on the way to get a one-on-one going right now.”

Phil scoffs despite his obvious amusement.

"But Phil, what the futz - are you a jock?"

"What part of 'I played hockey until I went to military school' did you miss?"

Clint laughs and shakes his head again, "I've had you pegged as a nerd this whole time." 

"I was a geek, if anything. I had social skills and I was a collector."

"Since you sound like you know the difference, I guess I have to believe you. And I guess it also means that you probably still are one."

"I can be both; a geeky jock." Phil shrugs, "I'm a man of many hats." He turns his face towards Clint. "But cold hands and lack of hockey aside ... today _was _pretty perfect."

Clint can't help the way his smile softens, and he bumps purposefully into Phil, then keeps him close by holding onto their joined hands with his free one. 

When they reach the entrance to the resort, Phil breaks the contact to pull off his gloves. Clint mirrors the behavior only to have his hand taken right back up once it's out of his pocket. 

Clint's a little curious when nobody gives them a second glance as they make their way, dripping, across the lobby and over to the elevator. He figures it must be some sort of conduct code that these people know. One where, unless a noticeable disturbance is going on, everyone minds their own business. 

Phil keeps close to him, keeps holding his hand, even once they're in the elevator. As the doors close, Phil's thumb slips up to rub at Clint's wrist. Clint is aware of his pulse, still slightly-elevated from their activity, beating heavily under the tender skin there. Phil's touch does nothing to slow it. His movements are unhurried, deliberate. The measured pressure feels intimate and Clint is sure Phil intended it to get this exact reaction out of him; anticipation, reassurance, maintaining the arousal they'd built out among the white drifts.

He swallows hard and watches the numbers go up on the display above the doors. 

The walk from the carriage to their suite could be called a stroll. Like they're enjoying the space and time that separate them from their destination or the sudden heat compared to the outside. Phil might be enjoying that. Clint spares him a look and he seems ... content. Huh. Clint's a big fan of instant gratification, but maybe he can see how this is a moment to savor. A chance to think about what's to come. Phil notices him watching and shoots him a glance - but in the second of eye contact, Clint catches a spark of something and feels a definite current of excitement bubbling between them, under both of their surfaces. 

It's not a conscious process as Clint opens the door and steps through. He knows Phil will follow after. Knows he wants to get out of his wet attire. Notes that the lights got left off but the fires are still burning. Is sure that fun things are about to happen now that they've got the place to themselves - no monitoring, no mission. 

He reaches up for his scarf and turns to the side to watch Phil shut and lock the door. He doesn't think to be prepared for the hot, pointed set to Phil's expression. His hands halt, clutching and hung at the loop of fabric. The two of them stand, gazes locked, until Clint swallows heavily. Phil's eyes dart down to where Clint's hands are still caught on the cloth. 

"Do you need some help with that?" he asks, voice low and rich and setting the tone for exactly what Clint had been hoping for. 

"If you're offering," he replies, infinitely smoother than he could have been if he'd been trying. 

Phil steps forward, unzipping his own jacket. Clint's hands fall away from his neck and reach out to grab the loose sides of Phil's coat as Phil crowds closer, until their chests are nearly touching. 

"Shouldn't we be doing this by the fire? We can hang our stuff to dry on the grate," Clint says quietly, slowly backing towards the middle of the main room and tugging Phil along with him. 

"It would certainly keep us a little warmer," Phil says then softly clears his throat. "Add some atmosphere, too." 

Clint hums thoughtfully, "Sounds like we're on the same page, here." Phil takes a hold of Clint's scarf, pulling it off as Clint leads them along. He drops it to the side and moves to start unbuttoning Clint's coat as they draw to a stop in front of the hearth.

Clint’s heart pumps heavily in his chest as Phil searches his face. He feels like they’re balanced perfectly between pushing forward and feeling unsure of themselves. It's a grand moment of want.

Clint lets go of Phil's jacket and reaches up to cup his face and draw him in for a long kiss. Phil keeps working the buttons and when he's gotten the last one, he breaks the kiss by pushing Clint away to start getting the coat off of Clint's torso. He's swift and sure, and between one kiss and the next, he's dropping the wet outerwear beside the scarf on the floor. 

"Messy," Clint chides, but he says it too close to Phil's mouth for it to seem like a real critique. 

"I'm busy," Phil mumbles, sweeping his hand around and up to the middle of Clint's back, "I'll get it later."

Clint lets it slide, but only because Phil is pressing their mouths together and that's way better than keeping the banter going. Besides, being the center of his attention like it’s something urgent makes him feel important. It’s hot.

Clint pushes Phil's jacket from his shoulders and immediately reaches for the hem of the sweater underneath, clutching the fabric and worming one hand between them until he hits skin. His hands are still cold but Phil doesn't so much as flinch at the contact. The rest of their clothes seem to fall away easily and Clint revels in the quiet contact - just the two of them breathing in their shared space as they undress one another.

As he steps out of his pants, Clint turns them and tries backing Phil towards the bedroom without breaking their kiss. Phil gets the idea and goes along with it, but as they near the hallway they gain some space between their torsos. Phil pulls Clint bodily towards him by his elbows to make up the separation but it sends Clint stumbling into Phil and pushing him up against the wall of the corridor. 

Clint's pretty sure their teeth click, but he’s very distracted. And with the way Phil moans and holds him closer, it can't have been enough to spoil the mood, so he goes with it. His hands fall to Phil's waist and the wall behind Phil's head, respectively. He thinks Phil's leaning into the touch until Phil's knee hitches over his hip. Clint finds himself fitted even closer against Phil, and in the time it takes for his hand to curve under Phil's thigh to support it, their cocks have slotted together. It all too easily lends itself to mindless rutting. Which is what Clint will later claim is the cause of why he makes another unnecessary show of strength and picks Phil up again. It earns him an open-mouthed groan from Phil but the two of them are too absorbed in holding each other and kissing to bother reaching for their dicks. 

They take deep, heaving inhales when they finally break. Clint tilts his head back to try and catch a cool breath, but Phil's mouth hovers along his neck. When did the air between them get so heavy? _This_ is what he'd been dreaming of when they were both still tucked under the bed covers this morning. Clint's knees wobble when Phil's teeth find the sensitive spot below his ear, and he wonders how nerves can be connected like that. 

"As much as I'm loving this reenactment," he says, "I think we need to move to a place where if I drop you it's not gonna ruin the mood."

Phil’s voice is cool and low when he replies, "Whatever you think -" Phil brings his kisses back to Clint's mouth. His expression tugs up into a charming smirk. "I'm at your mercy," he breathes between delicate presses of their mouths. Clint shivers again, violently. He very much feels that the opposite is more true. But the shivery feeling only supports his inclination to move to a softer or at least more forgiving place. He slides one hand between Phil's back and the wall then steps away. Phil tightens his legs and arms again around Clint once he's being held midair. “I’ve been dying to spread you out on that enormous bed all week,” Phil adds as they sweep into the warm bedroom. 

"Gave you a shot yesterday morning," Clint mumbles, although he's secretly really glad neither of them tried to follow through on that. 

Phil shakes his head, "And I thought you just wanted to get off then go on, business as usual." Clint sets him down on the bed but Phil’s hand comes up to cup Clint's jaw, "I wasn't looking to have a taste of everything I wanted, only for it to be taken away once I'd gotten it." 

Clint leans in to carefully touch their foreheads together, just for a moment. He presses a kiss to Phil's as he leans away. 

"I'm glad we didn't," he whispers. "It's better this way." He suddenly feels too shy to voice why that is. Why he wants it to be special and real.

Phil catches his chin before he can lean back any further and pulls him into another lingering kiss. 

"How would you like to go about this?" Phil asks, formal and over-enunciated where he mumbles it against Clint's mouth. 

Clint doesn't try to hold back his smile, “Still want to come all over my face?”

“Yes, but if you’re going to let me fuck you, I’d rather do that.”

Clint shivers again and stands upright. Phil lays a palm to the base of Clint's spine as he stretches to reach for the bedside drawer and rummages for a moment.

"Total amenities," Clint says as he comes up with a bottle of lube; the one he'd been a little embarrassed to find tied up with a pack of condoms in a ribbon bearing the hotel’s logo when he’d been snooping around on the first night of their stay. 

"It _is_ a couple's resort," Phil replies. 

Clint kneels up on the bed over Phil's lap. "And I couldn't be happier about it." They both watch Clint's hands as he undoes the seal on the small bottle, Phil continuing to rub small circles against Clint's back. He crumples the plastic and drops it behind him on the floor as he finally pops the cap. 

"Let me?" Phil asks. 

Clint shakes his head as he slicks his own fingers and Phil frowns. "I don't have the patience," he explains. It's easier to relax and open up if he knows when the stretch is coming. 

"Next time?" Phil's hands move to cup his ass. And his earnestness sets something alight inside Clint. 

Clint smiles down at him, "Next time," he promises as he presses his finger to his hole. Phil smiles softly back and leans in to mouth at Clint's collar bones. Clint sighs and lays into it. He stretches himself with quick sureness and lets Phil hold him with one hand as he uses the other to trace over the soft, sensitive skin of Clint’s face and neck. 

"_Phil_," he sighs, and feeling steady enough in Phil's grip, he lifts the hand he'd been bracing himself with and reaches down to wrap it around Phil's cock. It seems like the feeling has just started to really come back into his fingers, but the friction of every pull builds warmth. 

It takes a minimal amount of stroking and wet kisses before they're both ready for more. Slow enough to be stopped, Phil's fingers slip between Clint's cheeks and brush against Clint's own digits as he feels out the soft, slick hole. The breath in Clint's lungs catches. Phil's motions stop as Clint's own hand moves away. He presses his fingertips to the middle of Phil's chest and, still stroking the cock in his other fist, pushes with the slightest pressure until Phil catches on and lies slowly back until he's flat on the mattress. 

Clint edges forward, moving to lean over him. He drops a kiss to Phil's nose and pulls away smiling.

"What," Phil asks, even as a matching grin paints itself on his own face.

"Your nose is still cold," Clint says, hovering above him. 

"Oh?" Phil says, then before Clint can think anything of it, he's leaning in and dragging it up the column of his throat. A surprised little gasp escapes Clint, but he bends forward and stays hunched for a handful of moments as Phil teases him with sensitive touches of his cool skin and warm lips and sharp teeth. It's distracting enough that he doesn't realize what else Phil is up to until he's gasping into the crook of Phil's neck because a hot, wet palm is closing around his dick. He hadn't even heard the snap of Phil uncapping the lube. His fingers curl deeper into the mattress beside Phil's shoulder. Phil's other hand spreads and sweeps across Clint's lower back. 

Clint sighs, "You gonna let me mount your cock or are you just planning on making me come all over your stomach?"

"Why not both?"

Clint is pleased to note that his suggestion sounds a little breathy. Another grunt falls from his lips, "Don't wear me out in round one."

"You give me too much credit," Phil replies, but he sounds fucking smug. And just for that Clint squeezes and twists his hand sharply. Phil humps into the contact. Clint seals their mouths together before he can say anything else. 

The moments drag on beautifully, until finally, he takes his hand off of Phil's dick and sits up, reaching backwards to briefly work himself over again. 

"Oh no, you keep doing what your doing," Clint says imperiously when Phil's pace starts to slow on Clint's cock. 

"My apologies," he says dryly, and his stroking picks up as he leans in and bites at Clint's earlobe before dropping a line of kisses down his jaw. He lies back flat as Clint sits all the way up to push his fingers deeper inside himself. Phil keeps his hold on the base of Clint's spine. He can't seem to decide whether to focus his gaze on Clint's face, or the point at his side where Clint's hand disappears behind his back. Biting his lip holds Phil's attention for a hot second. At least until Clint releases it with a soft noise as he rocks back against his fingers. Clint doesn't want to stop doing it, and that's what makes him think that maybe it's time to get on with things. 

He leans down to peck Phil's mouth then climbs off of him to crawl up the bed and fish around in the nightstand for condoms. He shuts the drawer and turns back around only to find Phil stroking aimlessly over his chest and stomach. The gestures are borderline hypnotizing - for a moment Clint is paralyzed with want. The idea of moving this forward only for the experience to slip through his fingertips wraps ghostly tendrils around his heart. He's only spurred back into action when Phil settles on toying with one nipple and simultaneously starts to reach for his dick. It's a great picture - and a reminder that both of them are here now because they want this - but Clint can think of something he'd like even better. 

Phil takes himself in hand as Clint straddles him once more. Clint kneads the mattress with his knees as he settles against Phil's waist. There's no hope of them ending up lying the correct direction on the bed at this point, but the width is still pretty long. Besides, Phil's the one with his legs over the edge and he hasn't complained. 

With one hand on the mattress and the other holding onto Phil's side, Clint leans back on his haunches until he feels the tip of Phil's cock nudging his ass. He closes his eyes and relaxes against it, Phil holding himself steady as his other hand closes back around Clint's dick. 

There's an obscene squelch as Phil's grip tightens and he squeezes on the up-drag and pushes on the down-stroke in continued slow, delicious motions. He repeats it again and again as Clint takes deep inhales and adjusts to the spread of his muscles around the cock splitting him open.

Clint sits all the way up - spine straight, shoulders rolled and dropped. He breathes once to center himself and blinks lazily, eyes falling halfway closed. He imagines he can feel the heat of the fireplace against his back. Through his lashes he can see the glimmering, bright vista beyond the gauzy curtain of the window across from him. The knowledge of the biting wind and cold air outside is almost enough to have him shivering again but he latches onto the potential of today; the idea that they have hours and hours to spend together consecutively. 

Clint can see it playing out; suddenly, easily. 

He pictures a repeat of yesterday morning - sharing the bed, the closeness they'd kept under the covers as they'd watched happy Christmas movies - with added intimacy, Clint hopes. Maybe some breaks for naps and good food that they won't be personally billed for. He can see himself waking up later tonight and riding Phil again in this same position as he looks out at the beautiful white of the snow in the intermittent moonlight and howling wind.

There's something wonderful about that sort of dichotomy - knowing danger or discomfort lurks within sight-lines and threatening distance but that you're safe and in the arms of someone you love. 

He exhales as he sinks the last bit of distance before his ass meets Phil's pelvis. A quiet, high noise slips out with his breath as the satisfaction settles in. The weight of Phil's stare is heavier than the droop of his own eyelids. 

"You look..." Phil pauses as Clint gazes down at him. He brings his hand up until it bumps Clint's cheekbone. Phil swallows thickly and strokes his knuckles against the side of Clint's face. "The firelight," Phil says as Clint nuzzles into the touch. He blinks down at Phil, savoring the moment. "It looks like you've got a halo." 

Clint sighs, shaky and wet, and catches Phil's hand in his own before it can fall away - holding it to his cheek and pressing the surprisingly soft skin to his own again before bringing it to his mouth. He holds the curled fingers there against his lips in the semblance of a long kiss. There are freckles on the back of Phil's hands even this late in the winter. His forehead and nose, too. It's endearing. 

Phil's hand around Clint tightens on an upstroke and Clint leans forward into the contact. He's hesitant to let the tender moment escape them, but the goading gesture sets him into slowly rocking back and forth on Phil's cock. Phil cants his hips encouragingly. 

Clint's eyes fall shut, "_Phil_." 

"That's it," he croons softly. He squeezes the hand Clint's still holding before pulling it from his grip. He settles it steadyingly against Clint's waist. 

Clint lets his shoulders slump and he tips himself forward. He braces his hands against the mattress as he hunches over Phil and draws himself forward until just the head of Phil's cock is still inside him. It leaves the two of them face-to-face and Phil arches up to snag a kiss. 

Clint only breaks the kiss to press himself back down on Phil's cock. Caught between urges. Wanting more of everything. Clint rocks forward and back because he can't help himself. It feels so good. He's going crazy for the spread of Phil's hands over his skin as he's filled up.

Holding himself up on his own is putting a lot of space between his skin and Phil's but it's not the worst thing. Without putting weight on Phil, it's flexing more than a few muscles and Phil seems to be appreciating the show. His gaze falls from Clint's face down his torso, and his hand slips from Clint's waist up over his chest. 

It fills Clint with a sense of pride - he puts a lot of effort into maintaining his build and he knows he looks pretty damn good, but having Phil fawning over him is something else. It's not even just that Phil's opinion kind of matters a lot to Clint. Getting what he wants ... well, Clint basically never takes anything for granted. He hopes Phil knows that. Phil squeezes his pecs and Clint lets his eyes fall closed. 

"_Christ_," Phil says almost under his breath. 

Clint hopes Phil knows how much this means to him. 

Clint bites his lower lip and keeps his eyes shut to hold onto this moment just a little longer. He gives a hard roll of his hips. Under him, Phil’s chest rises as he heaves in a deep breath. His fingers increase their pressure on Clint’s skin as they drag against his torso.

Phil’s body tenses up but Clint stays focused and gets rewarded with the surprise of a soft mouth pressing over his collar bones and the gentle press of teeth around the base of his throat. One of Phil’s hands comes away from Clint’s body to support his new, crunched position, but Clint doesn’t mind.

Clint clenches up without warning. It forces a hot, surprised breath out of Phil and Clint fixates on the sensation of humid air against his neck. 

Phil collapses back against the mattress, and Clint's eyes slit open to take a look. He blinks wide when he finds Phil staring at him unabashedly. Clint clenches again and the palm still pressed flat to his sternum flinches. 

He feels attractive. There's a deep sense of belonging for him here atop Phil's hips, being openly admired. Knowing Phil pays attention to his physique - having him pay it attention, physically, now - makes him feel special. And rightfully so; Phil's attention isn't swayed by just any sweet figure. Clint thinks back to how Phil had so obviously eyed him in the elevator and the butterflies in his stomach make a reappearance. He hisses at a particularly hard pinch of his nipple. 

Clint bites back a smile, "Is this what you were thinking about earlier? In the elevator?" he can't resist teasing. 

Phil groans, "Yes," he sighs, "Of course it was, God, how could I not?" His hands stroke down Clint's sides, "You look so beautiful doing anything. Everything."

It sounds like Phil's coming apart. Clint sighs and rolls down. He starts to play with control of his own body, putting on a bit of a show - keeping his upper body still and twisting his hips and core down over and over, wiggling from side to side as he pulls up. It draws low, rough sounds out of Phil and it makes Clint proud. The weight of Phil's gaze is heavy and exhilarating. Clint's a performer at heart, and there's nothing like getting to show off to your crush and having it be appreciated.

Phil's hand strokes down over his stomach. Clint doesn't think he means for it to tickle but it does - and as much as he likes the contact, he still arches away on instinct. Phil repeats the gesture and Clint's reaction is the same. It feels intimate for such a vulnerable part of him to be touched so gently. 

"How close are you?" Phil asks him. 

"Still getting there," Clint answers. The part of him that desperately wants to make this as good as possible for Phil feels a little weird about that truth but he has yet to fake an orgasm for anyone and he really doesn't think it’s even remotely possible that he'll have to with Phil. If anybody's going to be able to keep control of themselves during sex to make sure their partner isn't neglected, it's Coulson. That's the way Clint's fantasies go anyways. But he can't imagine reality being much different. 

Phil's hands slide back down to take a hold of Clint's hips, and Clint feels his demeanor change from passive to intent. Clint grins - really, he's surprised it took Phil this long to make a move for control. Beneath Clint, Phil's hips lift from the mattress and the gentle rocking from before turns into deep rolling. Like magic, he's hitting Clint's sweet spot with only a moment of re-direction. Clint's reaction is obvious and embarrassing, but it has Phil zeroing in and knocking Clint breathless. He's so fucking full. _Christ_. 

He gets no time to recover from the thrust and drag before Phil's hand is wrapping around his dick. It lights him up. 

Even with the sensory overload, this is another moment he intends to hang onto. 

And then Phil starts talking.

"Look at you," he sighs like they’ve only just started and this is the first he’s seeing of him. "Fuck, Clint," he says, gentle and ... something else. Something Clint can't identify. "Can't believe I'm buried inside you. That I have you so close."

Clint tries to stifle a whimper by biting his lower lip. 

"No," Phil says, soft and imploring, "no, let me hear you. You sound so sweet."

That pulls an ache of a noise out of him.

“Again, let me hear it.”

Clint whines. It’s mortifying that just Phil asking for it can get him to react so organically.

"There we go," says Phil and he sounds incredibly self-satisfied. Or maybe just satisfied. Clint hopes for lack of depth here, in this respect; that it's just - straightforward - about hearing how Clint sounds. He chokes out another guttural noise on a particularly vicious thrust. Phil coos at him. 

Mid-roll, Clint shifts his weight and lifts a hand from the mattress to cover his face. "Stop trying to embarrass me," he entreats in a tone caught between a whine and admonition. He's not at the point of begging, but he can at least ask. It's a close thing.

Phil's grip tightens on Clint's hips. His torso tenses beneath Clint and Clint peeks through his fingers just enough to catch the shape of Phil sitting up in another rather impressive crunch until he's close enough to speak quietly. A gentle hand wraps around Clint's wrist and tugs until he uncovers his face. 

“Is that what this feels like?”

Clint tilts his head back to look up at the ceiling since he can’t cover his face anymore. He’s too turned on to deal with this.

The hand Phil still has on Clint’s hip wraps all the way around his waist.

"Don't think-" he says low and sultry and unyielding, "-for one second that this is about that-" panting, he fucks up into Clint, "-or my pride." His hands sweep firm and sweet across Clint's back until their chests are folded together, "Or anything other than seeing how beautiful you look and sound …” he pauses, and it draws a dramatic line of tension between them that has Clint holding his breath and waiting - so aware of Phil’s nearness, of the warm breath exhaled onto his skin, of Phil leaning in to kiss the spot right next to his ear, of the anticipation he’s building inside himself as he waits for Phil to finish in a whisper; “… in the throes of pleasure."

A shiver races through Clint, hard. He shuts his eyes tighter and plants both hands on Phil's chest to push him away. Phil lets him and flops back onto the mattress, his hands sliding back to sit on Clint's hips once more. But the way he stares up at Clint feels open and wanting. 

"You're too much," Clint offers quietly, in explanation. It doesn't sound like he thinks Phil's too much though. It sounds just as open and wanting as Phil's expression. More so, even. "Touch me.” 

Without breaking eye contact, Phil releases his grip and drags it feather-light down Clint's Adonis line. Clint sucks in a breath when Phil takes him in hand and gives a hard roll into him at once. Clint holds onto Phil’s forearms in an attempt to stay grounded, even as he starts to fall into letting Phil bring him to the edge.

He goes back to mapping Clint’s erogenous zones with gentle, exploratory touches. But it’s too good. Now that he’s so hyper-emotionally charged in so many ways, it’s like everything feels more sensitive.

Clint wishes one of them would say “_I love you_” again.

The bed dips behind Clint, and he feels two lines of heat at his back as Phil bends his legs and plants his feet on the bed. Clint only has a moment to take a gasp of a breath in preparation before he begins to be well and properly fucked. He doesn’t try to censor himself at all, and feels completely unselfconscious about it as Phil gives him all he’s got. Despite never having doubted it, Clint is floored by the reality of Phil’s stamina and precision.

This has got to be the definition of being fucked within an inch of your life. The relentless, perfect thrusts have him lost. Clint falls to his forearms with a low, drawn shout and clenches down hard - all his muscles contracting as his orgasm is wrung out of him. Phil pushes into him deep and Clint thinks he must be coming too. But that's the extent of his cognitive ability in the moment. Sound drowns away and his vision goes white as he cries out through gritted teeth. 

When he comes back to himself all he feels is deep shakiness. His breathing is labored, but evening out, and the exhales bounce back against his face. Clint blinks his eyes open and finds that he's mostly collapsed onto Phil's chest. His hands are still fisted in the sheets and he can feel hipbones digging into his calves where his legs are still tucked up tight against Phil's sides. 

Phil twists to press kisses up the length of Clint's neck - which totally doesn't help with the shivery feeling - until their cheeks are pressed together and the corner of his mouth is brushing against the bolt of Clint's jaw. 

"I think," he whispers in a sex-rough voice, "we should finish warming up in the shower."

Clint sighs breathily and starts to roll off of Phil to get up, but he only makes it halfway onto his back. It leaves their legs tangled together. And it feels nice, to just lay like that - completely relaxed, more than comfortable. So he tells Phil: “No.”

“No?”

He lets his eyes fall closed and shakes his head back and forth, rolling it one way then the other against the duvet. “I want fifteen minutes.” Even his speech sounds slack.

“Fifteen?” Phil says, a little incredulous.

“I’m on vacation.” He sighs. “And I just got fucked really good.”

Phil laughs a little - it’s full and bright and it puts a glow inside of Clint.

“Like, so good,” Clint adds, and it feels like Phil might be grinning at him.

“Fair enough,” he replies, “fifteen minutes.” Clint is surprised to have a kiss pressed to his cheek. “Let me get more comfortable and I’ll join you.” The mattress shifts as he sits up and to the edge of the bed then leans to reach over Clint’s legs for something on the nightstand. Probably wiping off Clint’s come and taking off the condom. It doesn’t matter too much to Clint because Phil lays back down before very long and that’s kind of all he cares about. They fit themselves snugly together, both sort of propped on their sides and curled into each other. It’s wildly nice.

For a moment.

Clint thinks he shouldn’t be surprised that in this first instance of undistracted quiet, his wonderings from this morning find him again. That and a cautious, bubbling uncertainty. 

"Hey,” Clint says, quietly and then lets the sentence rest. He knows what he wants to say but he doesn’t know how he wants to say it. Doesn’t want to mess anything up. “When we get home ..."

Phil is patient for a long, long minute as Clint lies there with his eyes closed.

"...Yes?"

Clint swallows. "We aren't going to be Paul and Clark."

Phil doesn't respond for a minute and Clint wonders what he's thinking. Wonders what he thinks Clint's trying to get at. 

"No," he says finally, "we won't."

And that feels like it could be the end of it.

“Right. Right.”

Phil strokes a hand down his back, though. And in the silence Clint can tell he’s hesitating over something he wants to say. His fingers tickle as they drag back up the length of Clint’s spine. “Don’t … talk yourself into things unnecessarily.” He strokes the full length of Clint’s back again. “Have the real conversation with me first, at least.”

Clint’s throat clicks as he swallows. His voice comes out soft when he asks, “This is real, right?”

“Yeah,” Phil answers, just as quietly. “Yeah, this is real.”

Phil reaches out with the arm he’s laying on and turns it over to take Clint’s hand in his. Clint squeezes it. When he speaks again, he starts quietly.

"Are we gonna be ... like this-" he looks Phil in the eye and lifts up their clasped hands a little, "when we get back?"

The persisting romantic gestures give him hope but he still… he still has to ask.

Phil turns all the way onto his side to face Clint and reaches out across the scant space between them with a reassuring touch that hovers fleetingly across Clint’s body until it comes to rest on the dip of his waist.

"We have a date, don't we?"

"Yeah, but I mean," Clint huffs a breath, a little embarrassed, and struggling for words. “Will- will we be the same?” Phil's hand smooths over his stomach. “Are things going to change? A lot? From now, I mean. When we get back?”

The question sits in quiet again. It makes him feel nervous and attended - to have Phil put so much thought into his answers. He can register his heartbeat under Phil’s palm on his stomach.

“They don’t have to.”

That sounds like an obligation to Clint though. Can Phil read him so well?

“Are you telling me what I want to hear?”

He has to ask it. Has to know where he stands. It means something for what the two of them are.

“No,” Phil whispers. “This is what I want, too. If it lines up- then that just works to our advantage, doesn’t it?” His tone is more tentative than Clint is used to. “I’ve …” Phil clears his throat. “I’ll confess, I haven’t … haven’t done a lot of pretending on this mission. When it came to being with you.” He tightens his grip on the hand he’s still got clasped. “If anything, I was holding back.”

“Fuck,” Clint says. And then, because he realizes as he says it that that isn’t a clear response or representation of his feelings; “I mean - holy shit. Like- wait, it’s a good thing! I- I really,” he swallows hard and notes that Phil looks unfazed, “I’d like to see you at full throttle. Romantically. I’d- I’d be into it.” 

"Yeah?" Phil's reply is gentle. 

Clint nods. “And. And it was the same for me too. With the pretending. Not pretending, I mean.”

For a long moment they stew quietly in their mutual understanding. Clint, of course, breaks the silence. 

"Am I gonna be your boyfriend?"

Phil seems curiously thoughtful for a moment, and it’s normal and familiar. "If you insist on labeling it that," he says graciously, "then I will happily call you my boyfriend. But I enjoyed calling you my partner this week, and getting to mean it in multiple senses." The way he says it makes it sound like a special knowledge they’ll get to keep and share. Honestly, he's the platonic ideal of a spy. One day Clint will get him to confess to childhood dreams of espionage. 

"We can do both, probably," Clint concedes. He takes and releases a deep breath. 

“Was there something else?” Phil asks. He scoots closer. “What sort of relationship did you think I meant?”

“I dunno,” Clint says. That had been the scary part.

His hand starts playing his hand over Clint’s chest and stomach again. 

“Were you worried-" his breath hitches as Clint pushes into his touch, "-it didn't mean as much to me?" His voice stays gentle and unrushed; patiently concerned. "Did you miss how uncertain I was? Even after you’d already told me how you felt? All the things I said about feeling vulnerable?”

"I could only tell a little," Clint says. He'd been a little busy feeling floored at the realization Phil wanted anything with him at all. "To be honest, that's- that's part of what had me worried." 

"Yeah?"

"Like maybe- maybe you'd reconsider. If you had more than a minute to think." 

Phil shakes his head. “In the moment I was referring to my emotions - my state of mind.”

Clint moans as Phil tugs on a nipple and tickles him with the barest brush of lips against the pulse point on his throat. “Are-” he pants, “are you feeling reassured now?”

Phil draws back and looks down at him _fondly_. “Yes. Are you?”

“Yes,” Clint answers with full sincerity before he can manage the smartass response he intends.

Phil strokes his face again and it feels like Clint’s existence is wrapped up in these tender touches. “Any lingering questions?” 

“Just one,” Clint answers with a pleased smile, reclaiming his opportunity to be a royal pain. “So we're dating?"

Gone is the considering and casual expression from the boyfriend-question. Now, Phil actually blushes and with a touch of joy, Clint stretches out a hand to touch and feel the warmth of his cheek before Phil can school his features. 

Phil clears his throat as Clint strokes a thumb over the pinking skin. "Is it too much if I say that this feels like ... more than dating?"

Clint’s breath catches in his throat. “Yeah?” It comes out the way he wants - an agreement, but encouraging him to go on, to say more. And that seems to fortify Phil’s confidence.

“We aren't testing the waters,” he says with care and intent. “We're wading them. And we're going to do it as a team-”

“Relationship-building style,” Clint interjects with a touch of wonder.

Phil grins at him, “Yes.”

“Yeah,” Clint says and he can’t stop looking at Phil’s happy face. “Cool.” 

"I know you just said-" Phil starts, and then cuts himself off. "But, can I ask-”

Clint’s already nodding.

“What made you think otherwise?"

"It felt like you knew what we were doing but I didn’t. Like I’d missed the point of it somewhere along the way.” Clint half shrugs. “I dunno.”

“Really?”

“You're always so self-assured," he sighs. "Forgive me for bringing a little doubt to the situation," he adds dryly.

"I have my doubts, too," Phil says softly, "But I'm confident in this. With you."

And all Clint can do at that is sigh helplessly and draw him into another kiss. When it breaks, Phil hovers close and their lips brush as he adds in a rough mumble, “You make me confident in this. In us."

_Fuck_, he’s gonna be the death of Clint.

But he isn’t done.

“This whole time, I’ve been trying to play it cool.”

It’s like he’s realized how romantic and intimate Clint finds the truth of these admissions. But that’s not his intention, Clint’s sure. There’s only an air of confession behind his words. A followup to his own disbelief and surprise at Clint’s answer. “I didn’t want to be too much at once.”

“Too much?”

The heat between them fizzles gently as Phil props himself up. He combs a hand through Clint’s hair.

“There are things about you that make me want to cut open my chest and pour myself out.” The look on his face matches what he’s saying like an illumination. He runs his finger through Clint’s hair again. “You deserve sincerity and dedication and love because you’re sincere and admirable and deserving of affection. And I want to be the one to give it to you.”

Clint reaching up to cup Phil’s face in his hands, and stroke his thumbs over his cheekbones. “You’re kind of perfect.”

“Hardly,” Phil says with a gentle scoff. “Especially not if I made you think all that.”

Clint shakes his head, “It was just a misunderstanding. Sorry anyways.”

Phil shakes his head too, and manages to crowd closer, bracketing Clint with his forearms. “If it’s not my fault then there’s nothing to apologize for. You had a concern and you voiced it - that’s just good communication.” He shrugs a little. “I’m sure it’s saved us both some future heartache.”

Clint can’t help it: “I love you,” he says, a smile spreading over his face with the words as he speaks them.

Phil smiles the most beautiful smile back down at him. “I love you too.”

Clint takes Phil’s face in his hands and draws him in for a long kiss. When it breaks, they stay caught in the moment, locked in eye contact, grinning again. But their fifteen minutes are up.

“Round two in the shower?” Phil proposes.

Clint groans and covers his face. “Yes, if you can get me up and into the other room.”

Phil laughs, low and rich and perfectly matched to the innuendo in his response; “Oh, I don’t think I’ll have any trouble getting you up.”

“I don’t guess you will,” Clint says through his own laughter. His hand falls away from his face and he takes one more moment to just look at his partner. His boyfriend. 

Phil kneels up and gets one foot on the floor then offers Clint a hand. Clint sighs but takes it and allows himself to be pulled into a sitting position. But he also takes the opportunity to wrap his arms around Phil's neck. 

“Best snow day ever," he says, and presses one more resounding kiss to Phil's mouth. 

**Author's Note:**

> I thought I was soooo smart last time for tying up loose ends by having Clint bring those devices up to their room but it was literally the only plot problem I had to work around to write this.  
Let me know in the comments if you have questions or if I've left anything unattended and I'll happily answer!  
  
  
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